


Liquid Courage Turns Solid

by helens78



Category: due South
Genre: Alcohol, Community: kink_bingo, Drunk Sex, First Time, Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-07
Updated: 2011-10-07
Packaged: 2017-10-24 09:45:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/262067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helens78/pseuds/helens78
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Ray's had a few drinks, he gets kind of handsy.  Fraser doesn't mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Liquid Courage Turns Solid

**Author's Note:**

> This has been sitting on my hard drive for an embarrassingly long time. I dug it out, buffed the dust off it, and here it is. due South, you remain one of the fandoms closest to my heart!

The first time, Fraser wrote it off as a totally random happenstance, something that would never come about again. When it was twice, he considered it coincidence: he just so happened to be there; it could have been anyone. By the third time he had to support a thoroughly drunk Ray Kowalski into his apartment, with Ray clutching at him and groping nearly everything he could reach, Fraser began to suspect a pattern.

He found reasons to go to the bars with Ray whenever Ray was planning a night out by himself. A former anniversary, Stella's birthday, holidays that were depressing when spent alone--these were all times Fraser could nearly count on Ray to drink himself out of his inhibitions, and then Fraser could be there, depositing Ray gently on his bed and carefully--all right, _yes_ , none too quickly--dragging Ray's hand out from under Fraser's shirt.

"Feel good," Ray mumbled, once. "Stay?"

Fraser was tempted. The couch was comfortable enough; he'd stayed on it a few times when they were both sober, just tired. There was always a possibility that Ray might decide that it was, after all, _his_ apartment, ergo _his_ couch, and there was no reason he couldn't come out in the middle of the night and help himself to whatever happened to be lying on it.

But no--if Ray wasn't willing to offer himself while sober, then he probably didn't want to be doing so while drunk, either. Fraser had _some_ scruples.

Still, when Ray decided to go out drinking on a chilly Arbor Day, Fraser had to wonder if Ray's excuses had grown a little thin. Fraser waited through the customary three beers and the plate of nachos that kicked off the evening, and by the time Ray was on his first real drink--Jack and Coke tonight--Ray had one hand on Fraser's thigh, and Fraser's resolve wavered.

He lasted the entire evening, getting Ray home as usual, but this time when Ray's hand went exploring past the button at Fraser's waist and into Fraser's shirt, Fraser didn't stop him. Fraser got Ray all the way to his bedroom and didn't disentangle Ray's hand from his clothing before dropping Ray on the bed; the resulting awkward tumble left Fraser on his back and Ray on his side, one leg slung over Fraser's.

" _Got_ ya," Ray mumbled fuzzily, shoving his hand up further and sighing in frustration--he had yet to encounter bare skin. "How many layers you _need_ in April, Fraser?"

Fraser raised an eyebrow--a button-down shirt and an undershirt hardly counted as being overdressed--but Ray grabbed hold of the undershirt beneath Fraser's button-down and began tugging it upward. Fraser took a breath--he wasn't sucking in his stomach to help Ray's progress, not squirming around to be sure Ray could actually get his undershirt out from his waistband, not _really_ \--and when Ray's fingertips ghosted over a patch of skin just below Fraser's navel, Fraser groaned out loud.

"You're not ticklish, are you?" Ray asked. His head dropped down on Fraser's shoulder, and he kept rubbing, scratching a little, making Fraser twist his hips from side to side almost involuntarily. "Not bugging you?"

"You don't--bug me, Ray," Fraser managed. He could smell the alcohol as Ray breathed and sweated it out, could smell the smoke from the bar in Ray's hair. He caught a whiff of hair gel, and a little sweat that was uniquely Ray's, and shuddered as Ray's fingertips moved up and down, waistband to navel, rubbing and scratching.

"Not gonna freak on me?" Ray murmured, nuzzling up against Fraser's neck. Fraser moaned again, tried to reach out, but his arms were trapped--right arm by Ray's weight, left arm by the pull and stretch of fabric. "Not gonna decide you're straight in the morning?"

Fraser jerked partly to the side and frowned at Ray. " _Me_? What about _you_?"

Ray gave him a confused look. "Haven't been straight since Ziggy Stardust. Get with the program, Fraser."

"Oh." Fraser paused. "For me it was Mark Smithbauer."

Ray frowned. "Hockey player?"

"Yes."

Ray seemed to think that over, then shrugged. "Better than having a crush on a curler."

Fraser laughed--there _were_ some men he'd known at local curling clubs--but that wasn't what Ray was talking about, he didn't think. "You're not as inebriated as I thought you were, are you?" he asked softly, disentangling his arms from his shirt so he could reach up and pet Ray's hair.

Ray just grinned down at him. "Took you long enough to notice."

It meant everything; it meant permission, it meant Ray wasn't going to regret this in the morning. Fraser surged up against him, cupping the back of Ray's neck in his hand, and Ray moaned, bringing his mouth down to Fraser's. If it had taken Fraser too long to figure Ray's particular attempt at seduction out, it had taken Ray just as long to figure out his advances were welcome, a few sheets to the wind or not. Fraser opened his mouth under Ray's, letting Ray kiss him, holding Ray close.

"Can I?" Ray murmured, his hand slipping down to the button of Fraser's jeans. "Are you into this?"

"Yes," Fraser groaned, rocking his hips up--not quite shameless, but close. "I am entirely into this, Ray--"

Ray popped the button on Fraser's jeans and didn't waste any time unfastening the zipper, either. He slid his hand into Fraser's fly and cupped Fraser's cock in his hand--and even through the starched fabric of his boxers, Fraser could feel the heat of Ray's palm, the shifting grip of Ray's fingers.

If he hadn't been shameless before, he certainly was now; he clutched at Ray's shoulder, thrusting his cock against Ray's hand. "Ray, please. _Please._ "

"Right here, buddy," Ray murmured. "I gotcha." But he was taking his hand _off_ Fraser's cock, all that delicious warmth going away--and Fraser nearly protested before realizing he was merely trying to slip his hand beneath Fraser's boxers, trying to make skin-to-skin contact.

It was possible Fraser's eyes rolled back in his head for a moment just at the _thought_ of that.

Coming to again, though, he pushed his jeans and boxers down over his hips, leaving himself exposed and ready, entire body ready and eager for Ray's touch. Ray didn't hesitate; he gripped Fraser's cock in his hand, stroking him... a little too fast, a little too rough, but it was _Ray's hand_ , and Fraser gasped, quickly picking up the rhythm. He thrust his cock through the tight circle of Ray's fingers and let himself _feel it_ : the rough calluses on Ray's fingertips and palm, the strong thin length of his fingers, the light hint of sweat starting to gather from the heat between them.

"Ray--I can't--I need to-- _Ray_ ," Fraser panted, and then it was too late; he buried his face in the curve of Ray's shoulder and came, streaking Ray's hand with it, his own belly, the lower hem of his shirt. He was going to leave a _mess_ , but he was too delirious to care. Breaking a cold streak was one thing; breaking it with _Ray_ was... more than he'd been willing to fantasize about, at least very often.

Ray still had hold of him, though mercifully he'd eased his grip somewhat. But he was rocking against Fraser's hip, grunting softly, panting down against Fraser's ear--and oh, God, Fraser should have offered, should have told Ray to wait, to let _him_ , but it would have to be next time--he would have to hope there _was_ a next time, because this time Ray was coming, nearly-pained groans coming out quietly from behind gritted teeth, his jeans still buttoned up tight and his cock trapped beneath them.

"Ray," Fraser gasped. He reached up and caught the back of Ray's neck in his hand again, squeezing lightly. "I would have--you didn't have to--"

Ray half-collapsed on him, then, nuzzling Fraser's shoulder. "Couldn't wait," he mumbled. "But I'm sticky as fuck now--" appropriately, Fraser had to admit-- "and I really, really want a shower, but if I let you up..."

It seemed absurd that Ray would worry about such a thing; Fraser was clutching him as tightly as Ray was hanging on to Fraser. He was every bit as messy, if not moreso, if one counted individual items of clothing, and he was certainly making no motions to leave Ray's bed.

"If you let me up," Fraser murmured, "I'll see about joining you in that shower."

Ray tilted his head up to look at him. There was no redness to his eyes, no tremor to his face or eyeline. "Yeah?" Ray asked softly.

"Yes," Fraser answered, and because it looked like Ray needed to say it again, he brushed a quick kiss against Ray's mouth and repeated it: "Yes."

 _-end-_


End file.
